The Contract
by Silk Assassin
Summary: The musings of an assassin about his past as he is lying in wait for his next target “Silk”. Warning, rated for violence. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own the Belgariad/Malloreon. These belong to David and Leigh Eddings. I do, however, own the OC and the plot.**

**Plot:**** The musings of an assassin about his past as he is lying in wait for his next target "Silk". Warning, rated for violence. Rating may change.**

It was dark. Not the dark of night, but rather like the darkness that shrouds the secrets and misdeeds of the blackest of souls. The type of darkness that seems to stop time and like a thief steals away the power of perception and reasoning and leaves one wondering if they can rely on their senses. A vast darkness that can make the rustling of a single leaf sound as angry and powerful and terrifying as the rush of an enemy force.

Tehran enjoyed such darkness. Most would say it was likely a side effect of his profession, yet he knew deep within himself that in the darkness was where he truly belonged. Here he was at peace.

Listening intently to the stillness around him to pick out the random sounds that could only be heard during the quietest hours of the night. Tehran eased himself into a more comfortable position. There was still time left before he would have to carry out his night's work.

As he relaxed, Tehran mused about the past. About how a cruel twist of fate brought him to this life, and how though at the time he did not understand, the path that he found was inevitably the path that he was meant to walk.

It was nearly 20 years ago that he was found by the fraternity. His family had joined a caravan bound for Tol Vordue. Times being what they were with civil unrest and marauders attacking anything that promised even the slightest bit of profit. He would never forget the smell of horses, the creaking of the wagons and the boundless promise of bright days carried upon the light spring breeze that rose up out of the west.

They rose upon the Imperial highway for several days camping along the roadside in the evenings. Some nights a young woman would sing sweet songs with the promise of eternal love, and undying faith. Other nights when the weather turned harsh, Tehran would huddle in the wagon with his parents comforted by the deep baritone of his fathers voice and the sweet fragrance that always trailed his mother as if she had trained it to do her bidding.

It was after just such a night that Tehran's life forever changed. It was during that ambiguous time somewhere before dawn where you cannot discern whether it is night or day that the thunder began. At first it was muffled and distant like a summer storm rolling across the far reaches of the valley. Then it grew louder and more intense like the rolling drums of an angry God.

Tehran rolled over in his cloak and buried his head, trying to muffle the sound when he saw the first flashes of light. At first he thought it was lightning crashing as the storm grew more intense, and then he realized as he sat up to rub the weariness from his eyes that the light came from the flames of many torches.

Just as the realization struck Tehran, his father bounded out of bed shirtless and formidable reaching under the wagons' bench to grab his axe. He was an imposing sight, axe in hand and his muscles gleaming in the flickering light.

He laid a gentle hand on his wife's face and quietly said _"Take the boy and hide! Be quiet now, not a sound!"_

That would be the last time Tehran ever saw his father alive.

Tehran sat there frozen in fear as the clash of steel on steel and the screams of the dying started to penetrate his awareness. His mother took him by the hand and said _"Lets go my angel, everything is going to be alright. Your father will protect us."_

Even at the tender age of seven Tehran could see that his mother never truly believed a word of what she said, and the fear in her eyes that she tried to hide from him betrayed the calmness in her voice.

She motioned him into silence as she carefully peered out of the wagon. He sat there trembling, biting his lower lip as if the pain would somehow take his mind off of the tears that were threatening to pour down his cheeks. He knew instinctively that if he were to allow the tears to flow that they would be followed immediately by the racking and uncontrollable sobs of a child who is drowned by fear.

His mother motioned him to her side and he obediently rose and approached her as quietly as possible. She held his face in her hands and stared intently into his eyes. There was a softness in her eyes that spoke of unyielding love and a firm resolve that seemed to quell her fear.

_"My dear, sweet, brave boy." _She said _"We have to go quickly" _She whispered intensely. _"Follow me, and no matter what happens, no matter what you see, you need to do exactly as I say! Can you do that for me?"_

Numbly he nodded for no matter what happened now he resolved that he would not disappoint his mother.

Quietly they left the wagon as Tehran tried his best to ignore the screams of fear and agony and the angry shouts of the brave men who tried to protect their loved ones even though they knew that their efforts were futile.

Tehran and his mother dashed for the cover of the forest through the steel grey of dawn. Running blindly, hoping beyond hope to escape notice.

Once they reached the edge of the forest his mother started weaving through the trees as if searching for something. Finally she stopped beside a large oak with a partially hollowed trunk. She grabbed Tehran in a fierce embrace and said

_"My love, you must hide here, and no matter what happens you must not come out until you are absolutely sure that the bad men have all gone. Can you do that for me?"_

Tehran stared blankly at his mother. _"Promise me!"_ She whispered fiercely. He nodded and she gathered him up in a hug so fierce that it nearly forced the air from his lungs. She placed him in the hollowed trunk and started covering him with leaves and loose brush.

"_Quiet now, my love. I will be back to get you as soon as it is safe."_

And with that she left Tehran wondering if that was the last hug he would ever get from her.

**Review, please. Not to worry, this is just the first chapter of an adventure that will most assuredly continue on in the realm of the Belgariad!**

**~S.A. **


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: **I do not own the Belgariad. I do, however, own the OC and the plot.**

**Plot:** The musings of an assassin about his past as he is lying in wait for his next target "Silk". Warning, rated for violence. Rating may change.

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A cold wind gushed up, rattling branches and scattering the leaves before it like scurrying rats. The wind was sharp like tiny ice daggers that pierced through Tehran's cloak in a thousand places at once. The sting of the bitter cold wind dragged him sharply back out of his reverie.

Cloaked in the darkness, Tehran pushed the bitter cold to the furthest reaches of his mind so as not to be distracted by its sharp sting. Once again focused on this evenings business he thought back to the events that brought him to this very place.

It was nearly two years ago that he was commissioned to perform this task. Tehran had indeed hunted many men in the course of his lifetime but had never encountered one such as the man he hunted now.

In most cases it was a simple task of following the intended target for a few days, establishing a pattern and then lying in wait to "remove" the target. After which he would return home to collect his reward and prepare for his next mission. The rules were simple within the fraternity. You were commissioned to perform a task. You did not return until the mission was completed, in in the case of failure you did not return at all. Failure was not an option.

This target was entirely different. In some ways even special. At firs Tehran had thought his benefactor to be either lavish of insane for the sum he had been offered to have this target removed. Now, nearly two years later, he was beginning to wonder whether or not he was being paid nearly enough.

In the nearly two years he had been stalking his prey, Tehran had not been able to establish any discernable pattern in either his targets actions or movements. At one point Tehran truly believed that his target knew he was being hunted. Now he realized the truth. His target merely assumed he was always being hunted.

With that realization in mind Tehran had deduced to switch his strategy. Instead of trying to get ahead of his opponent through predicting his next move he resorted to the art of stalking his prey like an animal. As long ass he was within striking range the opportunity to complete his mission would present itself eventually.

Even still, it was no easy task. There was something almost otherworldly in how fast this man could move, and in how often his tracks would disappear entirely. An expert in tracking and evasion himself, Tehran had grown to truly respect the magnuity his target used to hide his passing.

It was also a challenge in the sense that his target wasn't just one man depending on the region, the weather or the political clime he could be any one of a half dozen people. And sometimes he even adapted a different person presumably just on a whim. What made it even more remarkable was the fact that he didn't just change his clothes of his name in order to merely pass scrutiny; he actually became these people.

For all intents and purposes these people were every bit as real as Tehran himself. He had back checked as many as he could and for each one Tehran had found that they all truly existed. Birth records, education and employment histories, family, friends. They even owned properties and paid their taxes like any other citizen loyal to their crown.

The sheer scope of the discipline that someone would need to possess in order to maintain so many fictional personas for even a short period of time, let alone the decades that this individual had managed to maintain them was truly staggering. It quite nearly pushed Tehran's admiration for his target into the realm of awe.

This mission had taken Tehran all over the globe, from the Cherek Bore to the furthest reaches of Gandahar, back through the vastness that was Mallorea, through the swamps of Nyissa of the snake people and had now found its way to Tol Honeth.

It was understandable that they had made their way into Tolnedra. The political unrest, the trade market booming, assassination and deceit around every corner. Tol Honeth was a cesspool fed by the complete absence of morality which suited Tehran just fine. Here is where he would complete his task, for even the assassination of a crown prince would go virtually unnoticed during this time of turmoil and civil unrest.

All of the major noble houses in Tol Honeth were beginning to marshal their forces for what was beginning to look like a long feud over the succession for the imperial throne. Ran Borune XXIII recently lost his wife shortly after the birth of their daughter C'nedra. Not that anyone other than Ran Borune actually mourned her loss. The Emperor of Imperial Tolnedra however, has refused to take a wife in order to produce a male heir to the imperial throne.

This of course has prompted all of the great families to start plotting and maneuvering in an effort to relieve Ran Borune of his Imperial duties and place one of their own on the imperial throne. It would not take long for the victims of political ascension to start piling up. It was this that Tehran planned to use to hide his involvement in this assassination. Tehran relaxed as he thought of this and leaned back to rest and conserve his strength. He would need it soon enough for the time was near at hand.

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**Review, please! **

**~S.A.**


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